Not Perfect
by purebristles
Summary: [LL] You see those scenes on television and in the movies. It's all so choreographed, so perfect. It's not like that with us. Luke and Lorelai's not so dirty thoughts. [Complete.]
1. Not Perfect: Lorelai

Standard Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB & AS-P.  
Dedication: This is for **sosmitten**, who was my first, ever, number one, reviewer EVER for my first, ever, number one fanfic. You made history, baby.  
Spoilers/Timeline: Anytime after 503, "Written in the Stars.  
A/N: Do read and review.

* * *

**Not Perfect**

Before Chris, I used to wonder about sex. And after that encounter, after Rory but before I started dating again, I started to wonder again. Chris and I were young, and first sex is always awkward - and for the girl, almost always never pleasurable. After Rory, I went so long without that I started wondering again. (# Insert your choice of appropriate Madonna 80s song here.)

Anyway, about sex. You see the rutting that goes on on television and in the movies. It's all so choreographed, so perfect. The guy knows what to do, they communicate with their eyes, they both take turns undressing each other, no teeth clash, no foreheads bump, no awkward hopping on one foot as you try to take off your pants, no feeling foolish after you undress and find yourself wearing only socks. No sudden shyness, no feeling embarassed by your prickly leg hairs because you forgot to shave, no accidental elbows in ribs, no hair in the eyes. The woman always comes thrice before they come together. It's all perfect.

It's not like that with us. Our teeth have clashed, we've bumped foreheads lots of times, and both of us have done our fair share of hopping. And let me tell you, Bridget Jones had it right - no girl ever feels good hopping on one leg without clothes - the amount of jiggling that certain rolls of flesh do is an uncomfortable reminder that we're not supermodels, no matter how much your man tells you he loves them (and he really does.) I've forgotten to shave so many times that he nearly commented on it once. I say "nearly" because he obviously thought the better of making a comment like that when we were starting to get hot and heavy one night.

When we first got started, it was awkward, to say the least. Not that we didn't know the mechanics of it - both of us are healthy adults, and I'd like to think we both know our way around the geography of the human body. It was just... the particular country which was giving us problems. After seeing him forever as "just a friend", it felt almost... obscene to be removing his clothes, like I shouldn't be doing it at all. And he wasn't doing so good either, he kept pulling back from kissing me ever so often, just to stare at me, and between kisses, I asked him what the matter was.

"I'm just feeling a little weird to be actually, one, kissing you, and two, taking off your shirt. I feel like I'm waiting for you to tell me to stop and serve you coffee instead," he managed to answer, in between the kisses and removing of the abovementioned shirt.

"Hmm... coffee, sex, coffee, sex... I don't know, it's a tough choice," I grinned into the lip-lock. "Well, if you're going to put it that way, I'm obviously not doing something right," he mock frowned at me as he pulled my blouse over my head.

Obviously, we got over the initial awkwardness of the moment just fine, but what I really loved about it was that we talked throughout it. Not just grunts and groans of pleasure, but about silly things like how great it felt just _there_, or him making a silly comment about how we should bottle this feeling up and sell it at Wal-Mart or something, which sent me into inappropriate giggles. I never really _seriously_ thought about sex with Luke (though I admit having the odd naughty thought), but I never knew it would be this much... fun.

We've moved on from that stage, of course, and now things are a little more... settled. We don't bump heads anymore (after that first time, we both decided that it was too painful, and put too much of a damper into our ... proceedings), we both know where the condoms are which eliminates mad scrabbling and fumbling, he knows my spots and I know his... but it's never like the movies, never. No simultaneous acts, no silent acknowledgements, no communication with the eyes. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's okay, and all of the time, it's not perfect.

But then again, it is.

* * *

_# If you guessed "Like A Virgin", you're spot on._


	2. Wildest Dreams: Luke

Standard Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB & AS-P.  
Dedication: This is for **sosmitten**, who was my first, ever, number one, reviewer EVER for my first, ever, number one fanfic. You made history, baby.  
Spoilers/Timeline: Anytime after 503, "Written in the Stars.  
A/N: Do read and review.

* * *

**Wildest Dreams**

It's probably one of the most clichéd things I've ever heard said, but I'll say it anyway: it was wild beyond my wildest dreams. I thought my dreams were... fun enough, but the real deal - extremely out-of-this-world.

Sex with her, I mean.

I'd always harboured the hope that she would look my way, had that secret fantasy that she'd come in wearing something blue just for me (she knows it's my favourite colour), _and then_ tell me that she was wearing it just for me. With Lorelai, you never really know what to expect, and I spent years hoping that one day, she'd say something crazy like that to me - just randomly, out of the blue. After we got together, I told her this (she bugged me for three days to tell her one of my daydreams about her), and her eyes got all soft.

"Luke," she pulled my head to look at her. "Luke. I can't say that I've ever chosen to wear an outfit just for you without lying through my teeth, but I will let you in on something. Sort of my dirty little secret." I looked down at my hands. "Every time - Luke, look at me." I raised my eyes to look into hers. "Every time I've picked something blue to wear, I almost always think to myself, 'Hmm, Luke's gonna like this today.' Every time."

How could anyone hear a confession like that and not want to immediately kiss the person who made it? I certainly wasn't one of them. I spent the rest of that necking session just flashing back eight years of my life in my mind, trying to remember all the blue outfits she wore - not for me, but thinking about me nonetheless. She laughed at my frequent distractions that evening - "Hey, you're not paying attention!" she pouted as she hit me on the shoulder, then smiled a knowing smile. "So, trying to remember all the blue stuff I wore, huh? Which outfit are you thinking of now?" I twisted my mouth in a wry smile, then applied it to hers to wipe that smirk off her face.

'Every blue outfit,' my mind looped. Every one. Needless to say, that was one steamy session.

Small wonder it was that she automatically laid claim on one of my softest blue shirts as her nightie. It was already one of my favourite shirts, but seeing her in it (and **only** it) made it a contender for my "item to be buried with" list. I've always felt there was something extremely sexy about a rumpled woman in an oversized man's shirt. Hey, fair's fair - she likes her men GQed up, I like my woman to look... well taken-care of.

I never expected her to NOT wear something for me though.

After closing one night, she sat at the counter as I finished cleaning up and asked, "Hey, you know what?"

I looked over from the pastry-warmer. "Do I really need to answer that question, or can you keep going by yourself without my input?"

She wrinkled her nose at me. "Fine. You're going to be so sorry you said that after I get through this story. So anyway, as I was saying," she looked at me pointedly, "I sat on one of those metal benches today."

"Uh-huh."

"I thought you said you weren't going to participate!"

"Things change, move on."

"Oh, you totally stole that from me! Thief. Anyway, I sat on one of those metal benches today, and you were right. They ARE cold."

I looked at her guardedly. "Uh-huh..." I drew out the words, feeling that there was a catch somewhere - there HAD to be a catch, this was a Lorelai story we're talking about here.

"They're cold because I wasn't wearing enough clothes."

My eyebrows shot underneath my cap. "You sat on a metal bench NAKED? In public? Do you know how unsanitary that is? And were there any kids nearby? Geez, you can't just do things like that, it's probably against the law, and..."

"Who said anything about naked? I just said I wasn't wearing enough clothes." She turned back to face the kitchen, picked up her coffee mug, and slowly sipped from it.

"Then what..." the wheels in my head started turning. "Lorelai..." I slowly turned to face her. Seeing her smugly smiling into the coffee mug was all the answer I needed. I shut the pastry warmer, wiped my hands on my jeans, and walked over to her. I flipped the counter stool so she faced me. She smiled as she hooked her arms over my head. "Lorelai Victoria Gilmore, are you saying that you spent the whole entire day walking about town doing a Sharon Stone?" Still smiling, she looked up toward the ceiling and said innocently, "Well... not exactly, but a few pieces of elastic string don't really keep you warm, you know?" I just stared at her.

She arched an eyebrow. "We're going upstairs right now, aren't we?"

"Damn right we are." This woman would kill me one day, I know this for sure.

I know that most people like to think that sex is always sparked off by blazing fireworks and clothes torn off and strewn everywhere, with a perfect soundtrack playing in the background, but that's not always how it happens. In fact, be lucky if it happens at all. With us, it's sometimes so awkward, it's funny. Legs and hands and clothes everywhere, and her hair always gets into my eyes and mouth. I'd tell her to tie it up, but we both like it down during. 'Makes me feel wanton,' she says. 'Makes her look ravished,' I think.

The most unusual thing about us is that we talk during the act. Not just senseless moans and groans, but really verbalize our thoughts. I tell her that I've always loved her hair slightly curly, and she tells me that the tattoo is sexy, and a total turn-on. I tell her that she should wear short skirts a lot more, and she tells me to ditch the flannel and wear wifebeaters all the time. Then I ask her if she wants me to beat her. And she turns it around and says that she'd have to be a wife first. We talk about things like that. It's funny, and not always dirty talk, but it's intense nonetheless. I've never had another relationship where I talked so much during sex - which is what I suspect, makes the payoff exponentially better. I'd like to say that I've put the theory to the test, but I think this is it for me - who needs more than wild beyond their wildest dreams?


End file.
